


And if you ask me to stay, I will stay

by CloudedAbandon



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Jealousy, M/M, Public Sex, Rough Sex, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-18
Updated: 2012-08-18
Packaged: 2017-11-12 10:07:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/489679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CloudedAbandon/pseuds/CloudedAbandon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Matthew is more than a little furious. Arthur's mistake is inexcusable. Arthur is more than a little jealous. He drags Matthew out of the restaurant and that's about as far as they make it. Perhaps not the best solution, but it works out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And if you ask me to stay, I will stay

**Author's Note:**

> Hetalia Kink Meme fill

“This what you wanted then?” Arthur hissed lowly, calloused fingers knotted in wheat-colored curls. He glared down at the nation, green eyes furious under thick brows. He gave the other a vicious little shake. “Making such a scene in the restaurant, practically throwing yourself at the bloody wino. Insufferable little shite--thinking I wouldn’t notice.”

“I’m surprised you did.” Matthew snapped back, violet eyes glistening, and looking far too defiant for someone forced onto their knees in a stinking alley. “Maybe even now you think I’m _him_ and _that’s_ why you’re so angry.”

Arthur bit back an acerbic retort and, instead, hauled the sulking nation onto his feet and pushed him back against the brick of the restaurant, hand holding him there.

The Englishman had dragged Matthew out of the restaurant moments earlier, too enraged to even call a cab and, instead, shoved the boy into the alley. Matthew, nearly vibrating with hurt and fetching scarlet bleeding across his cheeks, glared as Arthur pushed him against the burnt brick.

“Perhaps I’ve been too soft on you.” Arthur said, suddenly, tone deceptively light. Scarred fingers reached up to loosen his tie and he glanced imperiously at his former charge. “Take them off.” He nodded at the other’s trousers.

Matthew stunned, started. “W-what—“

“Did I stutter?” The sandy-haired nation asked lowly, eyes narrowing. “Take. Them. Off.”

For a moment it seemed as though the Canadian would refuse, but then he acquiesced, spindly fingers undoing his belt before sliding off his pants and boxers and kicking them off. His white dress shirt hung just past his hips and he looked almost uncertain, violet eyes flickering towards the opening towards the street.

It was twilight. Somebody could walk by.

But before he could open his mouth point this out, Arthur pushed him up against the wall again. The rough surface scratched at his bare legs and the cotton of his shirt caught against the brick. He gasped as his head knocked against the building and his hands immediately came up to grasp the other’s shoulders, nails digging into his dress shirt.

“Attention seeking _slag_.” Arthur growled, nipping the younger nation’s pulse point, lightly dragging his teeth across it. His hands gripped his waist. “A few decades of independence and suddenly you think you can get away with anything.”

“Well…” Matthew began, a small smirk (one that Alfred dubbed his ‘I’m better than you and I know it’ smirk) forming on his lips. “…isn’t that what independence is?” He gasped when Arthur bit particularly hard down on a tendon in his neck.

“Cheeky bastard.” The Englishman murmured, swiping over the abused patch of skin with his tongue. He wanted to wreck that flesh, own each mark on it. He wanted Matthew to understand this. He turned his head, pressing a kiss to the corner of Matthew’s lips and that’s all the warning the nation received before the other slid his lips over his and dragged him into a hard kiss, tongue pushing past pliant lips and plundering the cavern of his mouth. Matthew’s eyes fluttered shut and he was too engrossed in the way Arthur’s lips and tongue moved against his to notice that Arthur, fingers digging into the flesh of one of Matthew’s legs, has pulled it up, hooking it around his waist. But, when the other grounded his clothed erection against his, Matthew broke the kiss, moaning loudly.

“Quiet.” Arthur ordered, smirking as he continues to tortuously grind against the blond. “Unless you want a crowd to gather.” Then, expression downright predatory, he added, “Of course, perhaps, love, you want that. You would like it.” He leaned close, grinding harder. “Would you like that? For your Francis—your darling Papa to come out and see his precious _chaton_ \--“And Matthew shuddered at the dark way Arthur’s tone curled when speaking French.“—being shagged like a…what’s the word?” He grined darkly, lips brushing against Matthew’s ear, “like a _putain_?”

Matthew gave a half-choked moan, eyes screwed shut, fingers nearly tearing the fabric of the other’s shirt, as he helplessly bucked against Arthur, the wall scraping the backs of his thighs and his cock scraping the stiff fabric of Artur’s trousers. Just as he is about is come, Arthur let go of him, letting him fall to the ground, bare knees banging against the filthy ground, legs splayed.

Matthew bit back a sob, orgasm already drifting away, and glared up through his bangs at the almost amused Englishman. Arthur stareddown at his former charge, green eyes taking in the disheveled nation, blond hair mussed, sticking to his flushed cheeks and in the back from static, his eyes dark and lips rose-red and bruised and swollen and heat pools in his groin and, without a second thought, he quickly unbuckled his belt.

“Get up.” He says, off-handedly. “And mind the broken glass.”

He wasted no time preparing the other man, wrapping one long leg around his waist and wetting two fingers and pressing them in unceremoniously. He watched keenly as Matthew’s arched away, head tilted back revealing his pale neck. He scissord both fingers and added a third, stretching his fingers far apart, testing soft skin and kissing Matthew’s lips when the other whimpered. It’s for his own pleasure, truly, that he decides to leisurely finger-fuck the blond, fingertips brushing against the other’s prostate every so often. When Matthew reaches down to pump his own erection, engorged and heavy between them, Arthur idly slapped his hand away, and, with one knee, forced the other’s legs to spread further so he could thrust his fingers in and out faster. Matthew swore and tried to content himself by moving his hips and grinding down on the intruding digits.

He watched Matthew’s face, took in the sweat dripping from his hairline and down the curve of his cheek. The other was panting, appealing little mewls and breathy appreciations leaving parted lips. He stared at the other's mouth, the line of his jaw, green eyes intense, and he almost wished for someone to stumble upon them because everyone should know just how lucky he is.

Then Matthew opened his eyes, indigo and framed by near-translucent lashes, and, snarky _bastard_ he is, asked snidely, “Trying to remember who I am?”

Arthur blinked, countenance hardening. And, perhaps too roughly, he entered the blond, earning a muffled gasp as he forced the other up higher against the wall. He wrapped the other’s leg around his waist and didn't allow for him to get used to the intrusion for more than a second before he began a near-brutal pace. He settled balls-deep in the North American nation and with each thrust he shoved the other up the wall just a little more.

Matthew, biting his lower lip, clung to Arthur, his legs locked around his waist and his ankles just above the other’s tailbone. His arms wrapped around the other’s shoulders and Arthur could hear the muffled gasps in his ear, against his own warm cheeks. He kissed the slope of the other’s neck, softly, nuzzling Matthew’s jaw.

“Let me hear your voice, Matthew.” His grip on the other’s thighs softened and he pressed closer, thrusts slowing and becoming deeper.  He nudged the other’s prostrate, pressing against it briefly before withdrawing and Matthew dug his finger nails into the other’s back.He wanted to be closer, wanted to shudder with each beat of Matthew's heart. “Matthew love, let me hear you.” Arthur whispered, running his hands up the other’s sides, dragging up the thin fabric of the shirt and revealing milky skin. He kissed him again and again, lingering longer each time.

“Please Arthur.” Matthew’s voice was soft. “ _Please_.”

Arthur smiled, heat pooling in his stomach, and, hands resting on the other’s hips, he sped up, hips snapping up to meet Matthew as the blond grinded down to meet him. Matthew came first, having been teased the longest, as soon as Arthur takes his erection in hand and gives it a few tugs. He wailed, voice shredded, and Arthur was quick to silence him with a kiss, letting Matthew’s ride out his orgasm and feeling the other tremble against him.

The blond fell lax against him, head lolling onto his shoulder and Arthur, now feeling aware of the burn in his lower back and legs as well as the full grown nation in his arms, pressing the other further into the wall, thrusts hard and erratic, coming hard with a groan as Matthew murmured tiredly when he felt wet heat flood his insides. The two of them stood there, breathing heavily, with Arthur’s softening member inside Matthew and Matthew still wrapped tightly around the older nation. Arthur's knees threatened to buckle but he pressed his cheek against Matthew's collar. 

Once he caught his breath, Matthew looked up, resting his head back against the wall. His neck is covered with red hickeys and Arthur found himself quite proud of the darkening bruises. Then, kissing the silent nation’s lips, Arthur said quietly, “It was a simple mistake, darling. You two look so alike. Believe me, please, it was a mistake.”

“But not one _you_ should make.” Matthew responded quietly. Arthur huffed and stared at the other. But Matthew looked away, gnawing on his lower lip, violet eyes suspiciously wet.

Feeling something in him soften and still, the Englishman gently stroked the other’s side. “Forgive me, love.” He murmurs, an embarrassed blush high on his cheeks. “I can’t say that it will not happen again…but don’t think it is because I don’t care for you. Because I do. Very much.” He cleared his throat, awkwardly patting the other’s hip.

Matthew laughed lightly, voice still thick. “I know.” Then, mischievously, he added, “You weren’t nearly as jealous when Francis groped Alfred.”

Arthur sputtered, blush darkening. “I was not jealous.”

\---

 

“He was so jealous.” Hungary murmured, a bloody tissue held delicately to her nose as she watched the two nations argue in the alleyway, not noticing their audience.

“I’m going to go back to the hotel and claw out my eyes.” Alfred announced.

“And take care of that I presume.” Francis asked slyly, gesturing at the superpower’s hard-on. “Would you like a hand?”

“Dude, don’t hit on me. That’s gay.” Alfred responded flatly, already walking away.

The rest of the nations watching also quietly snuck away, lest they give away their presence and rouse the ire of England.

Or Canada.


End file.
